He scrunches his eyebrows and forehead. “Nervous? I know who the winner’s gonna be,” he says proudly.
I roll my eyes.
Admittedly, Joel’s elaborate decorations outdo most of the homes on the block. Not to mention, his decor is elaborate without being outlandish or too over the top. It’s welcoming instead of coming across as ‘look at me, I’m better than you’ the way some extreme decorations can appear.
“Of course you already know,” I say. “I think they’re gathering around over there to announce the winners of the competition.”
Every year there are three winners. The house that wins the third place gets to pick a charity of their choice for their neighbors to donate to, if they choose.
The runner-up gets honorable mention in the neighborhood’s newsletter and on the social media group, and also has a small amount donated to their charity of choice.
And the home in the number one position gets all of the previously mentioned prizes, as well as a paid for dinner for two at the premiere five-star restaurant in town.
“Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” the announcer starts.
“The horse!” a little boy, about nine years old, calls out, making all of the adults laugh.
Joel turns to him and winks. Each year, Joel has a few of his ranch hands bring out a couple horses, dressed up as reindeer of course, for the kids to ride around the neighborhood on.
“Soon,” Joel assures the little boy.
“That’s coming up, but first we need to get to the winners of this year’s neighborhood Christmas decorating competition. Now as you all know, we’re using the word ‘competition’ in the friendliest of manners …” the neighborhood’s MC continues.
“Just get to announcing the winners.”
“Joel!” I whisper-yell, tugging on his arm.
He gives me the most adorable, innocent look. “What? He’s taking too long, and he knows it.”
Joel’s words encourage the crowd around us to start cheering for the winners to be announced as well.
The announcer goes on to tell us the winner of the third place. A lovely couple who moved into the neighborhood a couple of years ago.
“And for our runner-up …” The MC takes the time to open the second to last envelope that holds the name of the winning house.
I squeeze Joel’s hand at the same time the rest of our kids and grandkids come up, surrounding us. Ace takes Amelia out of Joel’s arms.
“Oh wow, this comes as a surprise,” the MC says, his face expressing shock at the name on the paper. “For the first time in a few years we have an upset.”
My stomach drops.
“This year's runner-up is none other than house number 222.”
I jut my head back and look at Joel.
“The home belongs to Joel Townsend,” the MC says.
“What?” I ask, aghast. How could this be? Joel’s won every year for the past three years. And his decor is amazing.
But when I expect him to lash out in outrage he looks over at me with an actual smile on his handsome face.
He shrugs. “You win some, you lose some.”
“What? But that’s absurd …”
I don’t have time to express my full outrage when the MC goes on to announce the winner of the competition.
“I’d like to see just who they thought was better than my man at decorating,” I gripe, folding my arms across my chest. “I plan to have a mean talking to someone about this,” I continue to mutter as Joel pulls me into him and kisses my temple.
